Nier: Automata is a 2017 action RPG made by Platinum Games and written and directed by Yoko Taro. It is a game that has stuck with me for years. I think about it monthly. Weekly. Sometimes even daily. Because Nier: Automata is something almost unheard of in media. It is ultimately a story that can only be told through video games.
Not books, not movies. Video games.
And it all has to do with the ending of the game–it’s true ending. And by ending, I don’t mean the final cutscene: I mean the credits.
But we’ll get back to that in a bit.
Nier: Automata is a painfully nihilistic game. What at first looks like a pair of Androids standing up against an impossible threat to protect the last remnants of mankind is nothing of the sort. In truth, nothing that happens in the game matters. Every person that dies–every sacrifice made–has no point. The pain suffered by 2B, 9S, and A2–was all for nothing. And worse yet, it’s by design.
Image source: NieR:Automata
From the start, the Androids were simply part of a meaningless war that has happened before and will happen again–possibly ad infinitum. It’s simply two groups of robots fighting until one side is eliminated. Then everything is reset and started over again for reasons no one will ever truly know.
No matter how you resolve the final battle in the game, 2B, 9S, and A2 all die–and all remaining robotic life is wiped out so that the process can start anew.
The game’s message is clear: life is meaningless, the system controls all, and there is nothing you can do to change that.
And then the credits start to roll.
But as they roll, something odd happens. You, the player, are given a choice to accept this ending or to fight it. Should you chose to fight, the game becomes a top-down “bullet hell” shooter. And what exactly are you shooting? The credits themselves.
But while that’s what you’re doing in the most literal sense, that not what’s really happening.
You see, Yoko Taro and all the people from both Platinum Games and Square Enix that worked on this game–the ending? The one you just watched? That was the ending they planned. That is the ending that thematically fits with the game and its message.
You’re not shooting the credits: you’re rejecting the creators and the ending they chose.
But as you shoot name after name, it only gets harder. More and more enemy bullets cover the screen and, the names start to become more and more durable until eventually–inevitably–you lose.
And of course you lose. It’s their game and they hold all the cards.
In the song playing in the background, “Weight of the World / The End of YoRHa,” the English lyrics are sung from the perspective of 2B and reflects both her story in the game and your current struggle to overturn her tragic ending.
Cause we’re going to shout it loud
Even if our words seem meaningless
It’s like I’m carrying the weight of the world
We the players are also shouting out. Shouting out against this unfair ending. Shouting out against the nihilism the game espouses. And at stake is no less than 2Bs world–the one we have spent dozens of hours trying to save alongside her.
I wish that someway, somehow
That I could save every one of us
But the truth is that I’m only one girl
Just like her, you are fighting a rigged system. And just like her, it may be futile. Even more so because you, unlike her, are completely alone in your battle.
“Give up here?” the game taunts–the creators taunt–and then send you back to the start of the credits if you refuse to give in. But as you lose again and again, the unexpected happens. Your “game over” screen starts to have messages on it–messages from other players.
Now, it’s important to note here that Nier: Automata is not a multiplayer game. Its online component is little more than finding the bodies of other players and either looting them or repairing them to get some additional items or experience.
But messages between players in this single-player game? This is something wholly unexpected–as is their content.
Some are sympathetic, others encouraging, but there is an underlying trend: you shouldn’t give up. And as you continue to fight, it becomes more and more clear: You are far from alone. The companies that made this game have employees in the thousands. But us? The players of this game? Together we are legion–millions strong.
And suddenly, the game over menu has another option. An offer of help from one of many others like you who have reached the end of the game.
When you accept, it’s not one but six ships that come to your aid, forming a circle around you–to protect you–while at the same time quintupling your firepower. And if one is hit and destroyed, another soars in to take its place. But alongside each death is an ominous message “[player name]’s data has been lost”–a message you won’t fully understand until later.
In the background, the singer of Weight of the World is joined by a chorus–even she is no longer alone in her anthem. And finally, with the power of everyone like you–everyone who fought to give our heroes a better ending–you win. Here you gain a new scene–not a happy ending, but not one devoid of hope either. Our heroes will awaken in the next cycle, in new bodies with their memories intact. Can they win against the system? Or will they once again repeat what has happened so often? Will they be nothing more than another cog in the meaningless machine? Or will they, perhaps, rise above?
It is then that the game asks you to make your own message to send to other players struggling with what you just went through–a message of support so that they won’t give up either.
And if you take a step back here, you can see what the game is doing: its literally teaching empathy by example. I honestly can’t think of another game that does anything even close.
Then comes the game’s final surprise: it offers to let you add a ship to another person’s game. But the catch is that that “ship” is made from your save data. To help someone else, you must delete your save game. All the story scenes? All the weapons and skills you’ve unlocked? The dozens of hours you’ve spent playing? All gone. Just so you can help a stranger.
And let me be clear. There is no merit for doing this, no reward. No trophy or achievement nor any other proof that you did this. Moreover, you will likely never know who you helped by doing this. You’ll simply be helping a stranger experience the hopeful ending you just did.
It is as if Yoko Taro himself is standing there, pointing both at the game and at human history as a whole while saying:
Life is meaningless.
Humanity is irredeemable.…Prove me wrong.
Then you are given a chance to do so. It’s powerful stuff.
Image source: NieR:Automata
And this is why Nier: Automata has had such an impact on me–what I was talking about when I said Nier: Automata’s story could only happen in games. You can’t fight the author of a book for a better ending while reading. You can’t reach through a TV screen and encourage another viewer to keep watching when its too much for them. And you most certainly can’t sacrifice your time with a film to give other viewers the hopeful ending they crave. But in Nier: Automata, in the medium of video games, you can.
Nier: Automata is a masterpiece in storytelling–a morality tale that makes its case and allows you to give a rebuttal–one to prove through your own actions the lie of all that came before. It truly furthers the genre and shows why games are their own special, unique kind of art.
Top image source: NieR:Automata on Twitter
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